It was weird that probably one of the best meals I ever had was on a private jet, but my life was different up until now.  Also, it didn’t really feel like we flew anywhere.  Going to the airport had always been such a hassle for me.  Now here we were, getting off the plane and right into a car?  It was nuts.  The customs people met us right on the plane to check our passports and they were polite!

“I’m sorry about that,” said Dominique, annoyed we even had to do that.  “If this was my country, we would breeze right in.”

“You’ve never been through a check with the TSA have you?” I asked.

“What is TSA?” he said curiously.

Wow, this is how the other half lived.  I mean, I thought my life was pretty sweet.  Hollywood parties, great food, beautiful people and no lines at the club---  This was some other whole level of living.  It was like the entire world was laid out for us.  Well, for Dominique anyway.  Wherever we went, people were there asking us what we needed.

Making a seamless transition to the car, I recalled that I hadn’t even carried my bag.  Dominique servants were quick to pull our bags out of the plane and put them into the car.  We got inside the limo.

“Drop us off at the Avenue des Champs Elysees.  Then go see to our hotel arrangements,” ordered Dominique.  “I will summon you when we grow tired of walking.”

“Yes, my prince,” said the driver obediently.

As the cliché goes, it was a like a movie.  I was actually living in a movie.  I guess the plot was some schlub like me hooks up with a prince or two.  I was looking around and I was in Paris in just eight hours.  It didn’t even feel that long!  His jet was like a luxurious hotel room.  I could take a nap, eat, watch TV, surf the Internet---  I’m pretty sure we would’ve had sex if we could’ve gotten the servants into a different part of the plane.

We got out of the limo and started to look at the shops.  They were amazing!  The clothes, the knick-knacks, the food, the jewelry---  I could barely afford to shop in any of these places and Dominique was offering to buy me anything!

There was a shop that sold baby clothes.  They were insanely expensive, made more insane by the fact that babies grow and hardly get any use out of their clothes to begin with.  Dominique bought extra copies of everything I liked “just in case”.  We carried no bags, he paid to have everything shipped back to the embassy in L.A.

Dominique had settled and seemed less tense after the plane ride.  Who knows?  Maybe it was that we were in Europe that relaxed him.  He was pretty attentive to me.  I was pretty sure we were going to have a nice quiet day together, but then---  They came.

“Ms. Kelly!  Ms. Kelly!” yelled the first paparazzi outside the shop.  “How long have you and the prince been dating?”

“Do not answer them,” said Dominique.  “I have already summoned the car.”

“How did they find us?”

“Cockroaches can crawl anywhere,” he said bitterly.

“Prince Dominique!  Your Highness!  Are you two an item?” screamed another.

“Can we get a picture of you two looking in the camera?” asked a photographer.

“Ms. Kelly! Is that a baby bump or are you just getting fat?”

What?!  I froze. Oh, no!  Am I showing?  I couldn’t be showing.  Am I?  Oh, God!

“Pregnant?” said another paparazzi rifting off the other. 

Fat?!  They think I look fat?! That’s even worse!  God dammit, I hate these vultures!

“Are you the father, Prince Dominique?!”

“Are you married?  Is this your honeymoon?”

Dominique pulled me, and I started walking again.  The paparazzi followed us for three blocks, never letting up with their questions or pictures.  They surrounded us like a swarm of flies, biting at whatever they could.  Mercifully, the limo pulled up right in front of us and Dominique ushered me inside.

“Go-go-go,” he ordered.  “Lose them!”

“Oh, my God,” I said.  “He can’t lose them here.  They found us at the shop, they definitely know where the hotel is.”

“I am sorry, my sweet,” said Dominique.  “You seem upset.”

“Yes, I’m upset!  They called me fat and they know about the baby!” I cried.  “As soon as this hits the Internet, my director is going to be furious.  We should’ve just stayed in the embassy and waited for the test results.  Now we have no control over the message and I’m probably going to get fired.”

“I am sorry I pushed you to come,” said Dominique.  “Please, let me make it up to you?  We will go to the hotel and rest.  We still have time to figure things out.”

“I guess.  Sure.  Whatever,” I said, a bit resigned.

Dominique ordered room service and went a bit over the top.  He ordered ice cream, pickles and peanut butter because he had heard pregnant women crave these things.  It was all really good, but I wasn’t in the mood to each much after someone called me fat.  Still, I was grateful that he was trying at least.  Maybe this could work, Dominique and I.

“My sweet, you deserve nothing but the best,” said Dominique.  “When this baby is revealed to be mine and I truly believe that it is, you and I shall only give this baby the best in the world!  Education.  Clothes.  Food.  Everything!  And this!”

Dominique opened the curtains to the hotel room.  It overlooked the Eiffel Tower.  This was the life of a prince: private jets, shopping in France and your biggest problem is that everyone wants to know your life.  Not bad.  I suppose I could get used to it, but---  Ah, who am I kidding?  He probably just wants the kid.  I saw the way he disappeared after we had sex.  Once your looks are gone, it’s just like Hollywood, everyone forgets you.

I checked myself in the mirror.  I couldn’t tell if I was fat or not.  It didn’t seem to show.  Dominique saw me checking myself out and sighed.

“It is barely noticeable,” he said.

“But you notice,” I pointed out.  “You can tell that I have a bump.”

“Without your jacket and while wearing a skin tight thin top while you stick out your stomach, yes I see something.  Barely,” he admitted.  “You just need some looser clothes then no one will notice.  What size are you?”

“Size 2,” I said.

“We order you some dresses, size 3,” he offered.

“Too baggy,” I insisted.

“Then 2.5,” he said.  “I shall have them altered.”

He was typing on his phone. 

“Laurent?  Ackermann?  Balenciaga?  What do you like?  Ah, I’ll just order them all.  I’ll have them hand delivered here.  Whole new wardrobe,” he offered.  “You pick what you like, the rest we send back.”

“You are nice to do that, but that’s too much,” I said embarrassed.

“It is nothing, I am a prince,” he assured.  “Now if I bought you a couple of skyscrapers, then we would be talking some real money maybe.  Wait.  Do you want a skyscraper?”

“No!” I laughed.

“Well, if you change your mind, I have a friend,” he assured. 

Within the hour, a delivery guy and a fitter arrived at our room.  The clothes were all incredible!  I mean, I was used to get free expensive clothes, but not to have my pick like this!  Everything was beautiful, high end and designer.  I wanted it all and Dominique insisted that it was fine.

“Oo,” he thought as the delivery guy and fitter left.  “I will order you some new luggage to carry all this.  Might as well get you a new overnight bag.  Yours has a tiny tear in it.  Plus, you want it to match, no?”

I hugged him and gave him a kiss.  It wasn’t about the stuff, although the stuff was amazing.  It was just sweet that he went to so much trouble for me.  Well, for a prince anyway.  For someone with his money, he was really working!

“Thanks for cheering me up,” I said.  “I feel much better now.”

“Good!” he smiled.  “I was getting a little worried.  Take you all the way to Paris and you were down in the dumps.  I like to make you smile, Savannah.”

“I could get used to you making me smile,” I said looking into his eyes.

We kissed again.  It was more sensual, but still sweet.

“My baby’s momma needs the best just like my baby,” he said.  “And I will protect you both.  This is a man’s job to do, no?”

“It’s hard to protect me from the paparazzi,” I said.

“Bah, I will buy their newspapers and fire them all!” he threatened.  “Or their Youtube channels or websites or whatever.”